


Between Dreams and Waking

by RighteousNerd



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-09 17:23:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1991379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RighteousNerd/pseuds/RighteousNerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She has loved in this space but she can't remember living here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Oparu for knowing where all the commas go!

It's the middle of the night and she's trying to remember. There's darkness when she peers into her memories, an unfathomable danger that makes her hands clench and her heart race.

To her surprise, she knows this room, this house. This is her bed she's lying in and her clothes in the closet next to his. She painted these walls, but can't recall the color they were before. She can remember picking the duvet, now faded and soft from long term use and care. The when's and where's escape her. Melinda sees the silk robe hanging over the back of the armchair: a gift from Phil. Birthday or anniversary? She remembers the feeling of silk between his hands and her skin but not the occasion. She has loved in this space but she can't remember living here.

As if sensing her confusion, Phil cuddles closer to her. He's asleep; his soft, even snores soothing her disquiet. Their bed is big and comfortable and his arms fit around her with ease and familiarity. Melinda would rather touch him and hold tight to the idea of this life and this place than look back. She sleeps.

**

"What do we know?" Coulson ignores the gravel in his voice, focusing rather on the unconscious woman on the medbay gurney. The steady blip of her heartbeat on the monitor is both a reassurance that May's alive, they've found her, and a reminder that they still don't yet know how to help her.

"The machine was very similar to the one Centipede used on you." Fitz says, his hands deep into the device's smashed circuitry. "Although this model seems to be more advanced."

Coulson never wondered what it was like for May and Skye to find him in the Clairvoyant's machine and now he'll never have to. The memory of it makes his hands twitch and he reaches down to take one of hers in his. Even unconscious, she still steadies him.

"Advanced how?" He can barely spare FitzSimmons a fleeting glance as they bustle around him, although he does wonder, absentmindedly, if he should get out of their way. They'll move him if it's necessary, he decides, and until then being near her helps him breath easier, but not by much.

"As you can see, Sir," Simmons points to the screen. The brain scan makes very little sense to him, beyond that it is a brain scan. "Like the last machine, this device induces theta brainwaves. Unlike your experience, however, her neurotransmitters are all over the place. There's no way to tell if it's because the machine was broken or if it's by design."

She swipes at the screen and the figure changes to a new graph. "Her GABA(B)s are increasingly high but what's interesting is that with these hypocretin levels, she should be awake right now. This implies some kind of lucid dream state."

"Can you wake her up?" May has to wake up, there's no future that he understands in which she doesn't wake up.

"There's no way to tell if she will, sir." It's not meant to hurt when she says it but he finds himself glaring sharply at her all the same. Simmons back tracks. "Of course, we think Agent May will wake, it's just we don't know how to help her do so...yet."

"If I can reverse engineer it," Fitz adds from the other side of the lab. "We might be able to ascertain exactly what's happening to her and how to fix it."

The "if" hangs heavy in the air.

"Would it help if I could find out how the machine works?" He can't sit helpless at her side when there's still work to do. Being useless has never fit him well.

"I thought our prisoner wasn't talking?" One of them asks. 

He thinks of the man in the brig, the man who destroyed the machine and with it their hope for May. "He'll talk for me."

Coulson situates May's hand carefully back at her side, and leaves. He's tired in a way that makes every step away from the lab feel heavier than the last. Skye meets him at the top of the stairs. 

"How is she?" She asks. He's had her digging into the identity of their prisoner for hours now and she looks mildly disheveled from sitting in front of the computer for so long. If she's disheveled, he knows he probably looks worse.

"The same. Unconscious. Simmons thinks she's dreaming."

"And how are you?" The younger woman asks, falling into step beside him. "Is that the same suit from yesterday?"

"I'm fine." They both know he's brushing her off, but if it bothers her she doesn't let on. "What have you got on HYDRA guy?"

"Nothing much of interest. He's former S.H.I.E.L.D." They had suspected that, though it still makes him feel queasy. So many of their enemies used to be friends. "Name is Shawn Robbins. He was a level 4 in Tech Analysis. AC, I think we're dealing with a grunt."

They stop in front of the interrogation room. "For his sake, I hope he knows more then a grunt."

Coulson leaves her outside. As usual, the room is dim, and he's thankful for it. Looking at the mousey man handcuffed to the table, he decides that this dark room is a fitting place for fury and fear. There's danger in darkness and this man hurt Melinda May. Phil Coulson feels like being dangerous.

Pulling up the other chair, he sits across from Robbins. Scared eyes peer out at him from underneath a flop of hair, and its hard to imagine this man as any type of threat. "You know who I am and you know what I'm capable of. I'm going to ask you questions and you're going to answer them"

The man flinches. "They'll kill me."

"I'll kill you," Coulson counters. There's no bravado in him, only a quiet certainty. "And I'll make sure you suffer while I do it."

Across from him, Robbins nods once, shakily.

"Good. Now that we understand eachother: what did your machine do to Agent May?"

"With it we can create a dream state, a very compelling dream state. We were directed to use it to extract information on your group, learn your methods, find weaknesses."

"What dream state?" Coulson demands. "What is she seeing?"

"I don't know."

"You put her in there. You created the dream. What is she seeing?!"

"I don't know!" Robbins shouts, his bound hands jerking against the cuffs. "My orders were to destroy the machine if the perimeter was breached! With the control mechanism damaged she is in a world of her own making. It could be anything from a fantasy to her worst nightmare!"

Nightmare. He thinks of Bahrain and shudders, his heart thudding heavily in his chest. He can't leave her in a dream, not when it could be the nightmare of Bahrain. "How do we wake her?"

"Haven't you been listening? The machine is broken. The controls are destroyed. She's lost."

"She's not."

"The longer she's under the less likely it is that she can even come back," Robbins warns.

"You had better hope she does or I swear to god..." He's fighting for composure and losing fast. The man is sitting within arms reach, and while he might be a grunt, he's complicit. Coulson could ensure this man never hurt anyone again, he could do it right now and nobody could stop him. His hands clench and unclench at his side. "You will tell us everything you know about the machine and anything that might help."

"And if I do? What happens to me?"

"That depends on Agent May."

Coulson feels like he's escaping when he exits the room. He's no stranger to violence, although he's never taken any joy in harming another. The certainty of what he will do to this prisoner if May doesn't survive is unsettling. 

Skye is where he left her, waiting with wide eyes. By the way she's clutching her tablet he knows she was watching the interrogation feed. He turns away, rather than meet her scrutiny. "Have Trip begin debriefing Robbins."

"Did you mean that? That you'd kill him?" She follows him down the corridor.

"Yes." He wishes he had the energy to lie to her, to pretend he's better than he is, but worry sits heavy in his chest and its been dragging him down since May went missing. Now that he's played his part he can no longer fight that pull.

"Good." She speaks with venom, reminding him that he's not the only one who can't lose May. Grabbing his arm, she stops him mid-step. "Where are you going?"

"Back to med bay."

"FitzSimmons have her. She's safe. You need to get something to eat. Maybe get some rest?"

"I can't - I don't..." Food is the last thing on his mind, and sleep? How can he sleep? He sighs heavily. "If she's going through a nightmare, I won't let her go through it alone."

"At least get a change of clothes?" Skye counters. "I'll bring you something to eat. May is going to need you when she wakes up, ok?"

Coulson nods numbly. Change of clothes and then he will see May. He can do that. He plots and plans it in his mind. Skye will bring him a sandwich and he will eat it. Trip will debrief HYDRA guy. FitzSimmons are in the lab. When May wakes up he will be there.

**

She awakes to the sound of distant giggles. Bright, flighty shrieks of laughter that fill her home and when her eyes open there's already a smile on her face. Her bare feet pad against wood floors, and she pulls her robe on over her tank top. The silk is smooth against the bare skin of her shoulders.

She finds them in the kitchen, Phil's making faces to the delight of their daughter. Spilled flour and an empty egg carton sit on the counter. He's a bit of a slob in the kitchen, but the smell makes her mouth water. The girl notices her first, launching her tiny body into Melinda's arms.

"Momma! Daddy made pancakes!"

"What a nice daddy!" She kisses her daughter's forehead, smoothing dark hair away from enthusiastic eyes. Penny, she thinks. Her daughter's name is Penny. She repeats it in her mind like a mantra. 

"Pancakes with chocolate chips!"

"Very nice daddy." The girl leads Melinda to the table and she watches in amusement as Penny tries to eat without getting syrup all over her face.

"Penny insisted." Phil chimes in, handing her a cup of tea. He leans down to kiss her lightly and the stubble on his cheeks is pleasantly scratchy beneath her lips. There's a smudge of flour on his glasses and it strikes her in a way she doesn't understand. He's wearing a t-shirt, pajama pants and glasses and it seems... Wrong somehow. But then she remembers: he's always worn glasses and what else would he be wearing first thing in the morning? Besides, he's cute.

"Morning, babe. Sorry, I didn't mean to sleep so late."

"Seemed like you could use it. You haven't been sleeping well." He shrugs, returning to the griddle to flip pancakes. "Anything I can help with?"

"Just restless. You got a cure for that?"

"I got a few ideas." He grins, handing her a plate. She doesn't really mind the messy kitchen, not when she has her husband's signature chocolate chip pancakes and her daughter's smiling, syrup-sticky face.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is largely unbeta-ed, as I got too excited over finally finishing it and couldn't wait. All errors are totally mine.

Bubbles float lazily in the breeze before the girl swats them down, laughing maniacally. The sun is shining, the skies are clear, and Melinda holds up the plastic, soapy wand and blows more bubbles to the delight of her daughter. Chasing them, Penny misses one small bubble and shrieks as it lands, then pops, on her cheek. 

"Again!" She demands.

"And what do you say?" Melinda asks, because she was raised with manners and so will her daughter.

"Please!" Penny responds, exaggerated and loud. It's understood that she will be allowed this small form of rebellion. The girl knows the words to say, and refinement will come in time. Thinking back on her own mother's predilection for etiquette, was Melinda any different?

They blow bubbles together; Penny wild with giggles and energy. There's so much of her in her daughter. Melinda sees her own self-authority; that stubborn need to take the world on her own terms. She see's Phil's optimism and boundless spirit. It's his snark and her expressions that mix on their daughter's face, but the girl is a force all her own. They made this tiny person together, but it's her that's rearranged them from the inside out.

From where she lounges in the grass she can see Phil in the garage trying to fix the lawnmower. Judging by the muffled curses, it's not going well and she has to stifle a laugh. Her husband is not mechanical, despite all attempts to be so. There are other parts of him to be valued: breakfasts made to order and bedtime stories, his steady hands and the solid weight of him next to her.

Melinda leaves Penny with instructions to stay within the fenced yard and goes to prepare their lunch. Without a shadow of a doubt, she knows her daughter is safe, that they are safe, within the fence. She doesn't question the clear cut boundaries between their life here and the world outside or the conviction of safety. It's a good life she has here. It's quiet, it's steady, and she craves the calm it offers like it might disappear if she doesn't keep it close. There's a truth in movement but she finds only joy in the stillness.

The cooler air of the house is a relief, and Melinda finds her way to the kitchen. She passes photographs of a life filled with laughter and smiles, but doesn't look too closely. Memories sit idly on the surface, but they fluctuate and shift when pressed. Their wedding, a vacation on the beach, baby's first smile; it's easier to focus on the happy faces than the details.

She's alone in the kitchen, and the quiet settles in around her. It's an uneasy silence, and the longer it stretches, the more sure she is that something is missing. There's jelly, peanut butter and the good bread for sandwiches, and she stares down at her gathered ingredients as though they can remind her of all that she's forgotten. 

Shaking herself out of it, she reaches for the knife and the threat of violence ghosts through her at the touch. It's no longer a tool but a weapon, and while there is no danger that she can see, she tenses, muscles taught and poised for action. Something is wrong, she's sure of it. She's vulnerable and there's menace creeping in around her. 

A hand grasps her elbow and it's instinct that has her lashing against it. Phil's back hits the fridge, the wind instantly knocked out of him. 

"Phil!" The butter knife clatters to the floor. Melinda could have hurt him, had been prepared to hurt him. How could she have thought Phil was dangerous? "I'm so sorry!" 

"I'm the one who's sorry." He rubs a hand across the back of his head. "I shouldn't have startled you. Although, I have to say, the warrior woman moves are pretty impressive." 

Melinda runs her hands over his chest and he's just as solid and sturdy under her touch as he ever was. "Yeah?"

"Oh, yeah." He nods, grinning enthusiastically. "So hot."

"If only I had known how much you were into getting beat up before now." 

He laughs and she kisses him. It's soft and sweet; a balm against inexplicable fears. Phil's hands find her hips, pulling her closer. She sighs.

"You're affectionate today." He leans down, resting his forehead against hers.

"I'm happy," She explains. "I like to touch you when I'm happy."

He pulls back, just enough to reach up to her cheek. "You didn't seem happy before."

"I thought I had forgot something." She believes the words as she speaks them, and dismisses them even quicker. "But I didn't."

"Oh, well in that case-" He kisses her again, this time with tongue, teeth and his arms wrapped firmly around her. She maneuvers him back until he's trapped between her and the fridge. Her fingers are just starting to slip under his shirt when-

"Pfffffbbt."

Dropping her head to his chest, Melinda grins into the fabric of his shirt. Giggles break out from around the corner. 

"Hello Miss Penny!" Phil calls out. 

The girl peeks out at them, grinning madly. She saunters out in front of her parents, a tiny whirlwind ready to take them to task.

"Did you make my sandwich or did you get distracted by kissy stuff?" She asks, imperious and resting her hands on her tiny hips.

Phil turns to her, trying not outright laugh. "Is that sass? Is she sassing us?"

"I think she might be," Melinda agrees. "A little rude, if you ask me."

"Momma!"

"Why don't you and I go wash up while Mom finishes lunch?" Phil offers.

The girl considers her grubby hands before shaking her head. "No, they're clean."

Melinda is not fooled, she can see the grime from where she stands. "Maybe clean enough for you, but not clean enough for me."

"Come on, kiddo." Phil reaches for her. "Mom has spoken."

They turn from her.

Something snaps within her. Her body stiffens and her hands clench and seize. Looking down at them, a terrifying knowledge seeps into her all at once: she can kill with these hands. They've torn men down and destroyed them. She has marked herself with the ruin of others, and knows it with a certainty that brings her to her knees and robs her of breath.

Melinda shivers. It shouldn't be so cold, wasn't she just in the sun? She's spiraling down, hard and fast, the world around her fading into a stark and blinding brightness. Two lives bleed into her, with all of their lies and truths, memories mixing with dreams and nightmares. Two versions of herself vying for dominance.

She has a family. She can protect them.

She has a job to do. She is protection.

Phil.

Coulson.

Penny. She can't let go of Penny.

Let the girl go.

The world stops shattering around her just as suddenly as it started and Melinda comes back to herself trembling on the kitchen floor. Phil is there now, clutching her to him like she is his very life. 

"You're okay. You're okay. Please, baby, you're home. You're safe. I'm here." He whispers desperately into her hair.

"Just let me hold on to you." She begs, clutching back.

In the corner, across from her mother, the girl cries.

*

"She's stable."

Coulson releases the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. They had tried, and failed, to revive her. May's Body had seized and shook, and within that small eternity he had despaired and watched helpless as Simmons had tried to save her. Now she's stable and sleeps on; the immediate terror passes, leaving persistent worry in it's wake.

"What do we do now?"

Fitz and Simmons exchange worried glances, and it makes his heart clench. They can't be out of options, he wouldn't be able to stand it if they were. He's not ready to hear that for all their science, all the technoloy at their disposal, they're still unable to reach her.

*

Their bedroom is a familiar safe haven, but even so, Melinda is unsettled. The duvet is as soft as she imagines, but as she curls into it she's haunted by fragmented emotions and shades of things forgotten. She fears what's happening, can no longer deny that something is happening, and braces herself against an unknown future.

Through the open door, she can hear Phil. He's with Penny, his soft voice carrying down the hall to her. He's singing a lullaby, a tried and true favorite about a river that brings lost children home. The gentle melody washes over her, something newly remembered and yet all at once worn and well loved. 

She can picture them, Penny sacked in his arms, her head nestled on his shoulder. Penny is only slightly too big for rocking but it wouldn't stop Phil; not if his daughter is upset. 

Whatever else she may feel, whatever uncertainty lays within her heart, the guilt is overpowering. Melinda scared her child. She scared Phil. Hurting them has never been an option, and having it happen is not something she can let pass.

Down the hall, the door clicks shut and she can hear Phil's soft footsteps. The bed dips and he settles in, next to her but not yet touching. He doesn't say anything, but she can imagine the questions running through his mind. There are no answers she can give him, and no truths to offer beyond her being beside him.

"How is she?" She asks the silence. 

"She's asleep."

"I scared her." It's not a question, but he answers her anyway by shifting closer. Arms wrap around her, offering comfort she didn't ask for but gladly accepts. "I scared you."

Phil doesn't argue, baseless reassurance has never been their style. Instead he pulls her flush against him and presses a kiss into her hair. He wants to ask, she knows, but he won't yet. 

"What can I do?" He offers instead.

"Tell me a story?" 

If he's surprised he doesn't let it show. Perhaps he understands her need for distraction or the way his voice soothes and settles within the center of her. Perhaps he's humoring her. 

"What kind of story? Superhero princesses or something more risque?"

"Tell me the story of how we met." 

"You don't remember?" He pulls back from her, worried. 

"I like the way you tell it."

"Okay," Her husband agrees, rolling onto his back and pulling her to cuddle against him. "We worked together and became friends. Kind of boring, actually, as far as epic love stories go."

Melinda pinches him in the side, just above his hip where she knows he's the most ticklish. 

"Hey!" He squirms against her. "You were - and are, I might add - ridiculously out of my league."

Melinda snorts and tries to pinch him again. Phil doesn't let her, snatching up her hand in his. Instead of releasing it, he laces their fingers together. 

"You really are, you know. I couldn't find the words to ask you out properly, so I kept inventing excuses to talk to you."

She lets his words flow through her, fitting them into her memory and letting them fill those empty spaces. "You were rather obvious."

He chuckles, delighted and amused, and she thinks it might be her favorite sound. What else could be worth hearing that?

"It was a little ridiculous," he agrees. "Finally, you had mercy on me and asked me out for coffee."

"You had that coffee with all the sugar in it." Her face screws up in remembrance. Whenever possible, his preference always runs toward the sweet.

"I did, and you made the same face then as you're making now."

Laughter bubbles through her. "What face? I didn't make a face!" 

"You made a face." He pauses, looking down at her with soft eyes. "And then you said that if I really needed to see you every day that maybe I should just come home with you. So I did."

"Just like that, huh?"

"You were very convincing." He assures her, that pleased, happy look on his face again. "The fact that I was already absolutely crazy about you probably helped."

"And now?" It's not something she could ever have fathomed asking before, never a vulnerability worthy of a voice, but the less she knows herself the more she needs to be certain of him and all that anchors them together.

"Now I can't imagine my life without you at the center of it."

Propping herself up, Melinda kisses him, letting her mouth speak in different ways. Hands tug at her and she crawls into his lap. They work together to remove their clothes, their progress stalled by her lips on his neck and his hands in her hair. He kisses her in every place that tickles, mapping her body by the sound of breathy giggles and soft sighs. She uses him as a guide, letting him find her at her core, bringing her back to herself. They move together, finally, letting their rhythm carry them through. 

She has no answers, instead only this one truth and she will cling to it just as surely as they cling to each other now. She loves him.


End file.
